


Come On In My Kitchen

by rivlee



Series: Gone Are All The Days [21]
Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two breakfasts, one dinner, and a whole bit of history. Unrelenting pointless, semi-domestic fluff. Part of a Modern AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come On In My Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect or harm is meant or intended. Title from the Robert Johnson song of the same name.
> 
> Unbeated. First posted March 11, 2011.

Babe woke up at ten in the morning to an empty house. It was an event as common as the apocalypse, so he made sure to check each room before proceeding down to the first floor. It felt spooky with no other voices floating out from behind closed doors and down the stairs. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stumbled towards the kitchen. The place looked like a warzone, half-eaten plates of toast and dirty butter knives everywhere. Someone decided to go with leftover pizza for breakfast, the box still open on top of the stove.

“I live with pigs,” he said out loud. Oliver, their formerly stray tabby, meowed in response from his place on the floor. Babe walked over to him and rubbed his belly with the heel of his foot. “You and me both, buddy. Nothing but being a lazy-ass all day.”

He cleaned up the kitchen and put everything back in its place before he settled down with a cup of coffee and one of the Tasty-Kakes Bill mailed down in his last care-package. Oliver joined him on the table, plopping down in the middle of Babe’s paper. He would’ve bitched, but it was too nice a day to care. He started to nod off when the backdoor opened.

Babe blinked and turned his head to see who decided to come home for an early lunch.

“Edward Heffron, it’s 11 AM and you still ain’t dressed yet,” Gene said. He walked over and stole a sip of Babe’s coffee, running a hand through Babe’s hair. “You planning on staying like that all day?”

“Don’t you want me to fulfill your pool-boy fantasies?” Babe asked.

“Skin cancer is not attractive,” Gene said. He dropped his work bag on one of the empty chairs. “Thanks for cleaning up the kitchen,” he said, massaging the back of Babe’s neck in gratitude.

“Do I want to know what happened this morning?” he asked.

Gene laughed. “Merl-Francis overslept and Spina forgot to set his alarm. Eddie had to leave for a last minute gig in Shreveport.”

“You had a hell of a morning,” Babe said.

“Hmm,” Gene agreed. “Come on upstairs and get dressed.”

“We going somewhere? What happened to work.”

“We are going somewhere and Anna sent me home. Told me to take advantage of her while she’s here.”

“Remind me to give her something nice.”

“Please, she adores you because you’re her caffeine supplier.” Gene stepped back and tugged him out of the chair. “Come on, you’ve had your coffee and your paper. It’s time to act like civilized folk.”

“What civilized folk live in this house?” Babe asked.

“Merl-Francis buried them under the stairs.”

Babe laughed. He leaned into Gene’s back and breathed in his scent of shampoo and various antiseptic creams.

“Nice try,” Gene said, “but you still have to get dressed.”

“But there’s no one else home.”

“And we have somewhere to be.”

Babe actually whined. They never had the house to themselves.

Gene smirked. He continued to drag Babe up the two flights of stairs to their bedroom.

Babe curled up on the bed once they were in the room. It was his day off and he didn’t want to go anywhere. He didn’t care how much of a child it made him, he just wanted to stay home, enjoy the quiet, maybe eat some ice cream for lunch and relax. He did not want to go out and be an adult.

He opened one eye at the sound of Gene’s exasperated sigh.

“It’s my day off,” he explained.

“I know,” Gene said.

“And I cleaned the kitchen. Like a responsible adult.”

“I am aware of that fact and thank you in your efforts to ward off another great ant migration.”

“And you’re off for the day.”

“Or until there’s a rush of massive traumas.”

“Why can’t we stay home?”

“Because there’s something we need to go do. Then we can come back and spend the rest of the day being lazy as dogs in August, but right now you need to go brush your teeth and get dressed.”

“I could’ve already brushed my teeth.”

Gene gave him a flat look. “Edward,” he chastised, “I can smell you from over here. I love you, but you stink of Fitzwilliam’s. I don’t mind sleeping next to you while you smell like that, but it’s another thing to be stuck in a car, in summer, with a man who smells like peanuts and Jose Cuervo.”

“The honeymoon is clearly over.”

“If you ever want a blowjob again in your life, you will get your ass out of bed and into the shower,” Gene said as he pointed at the bathroom door.

“Fine,” Babe muttered, “but I’m only doing this under duress.”

“You’ll thank me for it later,” Gene called out before Babe closed the bathroom door.

************

One of the many problems caused by St. Boniface’s summers was humidity. Babe thought he understood what humidity meant in Philly. It was, after all, a coastal town, but humidity took on a whole different meaning in Bayou Country.

The shit made Babe’s hair curl. Gene loved it, Spina kept a Facebook photo album dedicated solely to Babe’s curly hair and Shelton didn’t see the big deal. It was kind of tough to explain, since Merriell pretty much knew him only in St. Boniface’s killer humidity and had no clue that Babe’s hair usually stayed stick straight. He stopped fighting it years ago. Any amount of product sweated out by the end of his work shifts.

He also learned to embrace hats, especially on days this bright. If he tried to leave the house without one, he got a flat look and a cleared throat from Gene. No sense of sartorial pride was worth getting kicked out of his bed.

Babe made sure to grab a hat and some sunglasses as he left the bedroom. The heat of the early summer day was already seeping in through the window sills.

Gene nodded in approval and hustled Babe out the door.

They drove for about an hour and a half. Babe had no clue where they were. Gene took the back roads and shortcuts that only the locals knew. He didn’t catch a sign for the town they pulled into and was too far away to see a name on the water tower.

“Do I need to call Bill and tell him you’ve kidnapped me?” Babe asked.

“It’s not kidnapping if you got in the car willingly,” Gene replied.

“But you’re such a nice man, sitting in your car with a handful of candy.”

Gene laughed at him and pulled into the parking spot on some sort of main street.

“Where are we?” Babe asked.

“Get out of the car and see,” Gene replied.

Babe flinched as he stepped out into the heavy air, feeling sweat already forming on his skin. He looked over the streets. There were no signs proclaiming a town name, but the place definitely looked more structured than a lot of the small towns closer to the swamp. Gene led them past a bunch of local stores, making sure Babe stayed under the shaded awnings, before he opened the doors to some place that was either a museum, library, or courthouse.

Babe stopped short when he saw the old-fashioned stage and spotted Sheryl St. Martine playing away on an upright piano.

“You dragged me here for lunch and a show?”

“Edward, don’t make me slap you,” Sheryl said before Gene could.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Babe answered.

He’d only seen Sheryl a handful of times since his first date with Gene. She really did go all over the South on gigs. Through Gene and Paw-Paw Roe’s stories, he’d come to understand her importance in Gene’s life. She was basically the closest thing he had to a mother, outside of his Grandma and Mama Shelton’s occasional visits.

Sheryl walked over to them, pulling them both into tight embraces. “What are you boys doing here?” she asked.

“Decided Babe finally earned the right to eat some of Papa Grove’s Grub,” Gene said.

Babe didn’t think it was a _right_ to eat at a place with “Grub” in the name, but he learned long ago not to question Cajun standards.

“Your boo finally learned to handle something more than salt?” Sheryl asked with a smile. “Well, I can finally be proud of your palate, Heffron.”

“You always make me feel so special, Sheryl,” Babe said.

She just laughed at him and patted his face. She walked back to the piano and started gathering up her belongings. “I wish I could dine with you boys, but I’ve got to head out to Jacksonville for a gig this weekend. I just always like to pay in Gracie’s hall when I get the chance.”

Gene nodded. “She told me to lock the place up on my way out. Didn’t let me know you were here, though.”

“I just like to drop on by when I pass through,” she said.

Gene wandered over to one of the walls, gazing at all the framed pictures there. Sheryl followed him, while Babe shadowed them both. The photos were full of musicians, going back to at least the 1960s, all captured in the middle of a show. Forever preserved on film, frozen in mid-play for a ghost audience that passed on by.

Gene stopped at the picture of a young man with blue-black hair and blue eyes. He was playing a slide guitar, eyes closed and face relaxed as if he was in prayer. Babe had seen the face many times on the walls of Paw-Paw Roe and Gene’s home.

Frank Roe.

Gene didn’t talk about his parents all that much, but when he did he’d go on for hours. Neither his mom or dad raised him, both busy chasing the music dream and going along with all its excesses and tragedies. His mom had been one of the hanger-ons of Frank Roe’s mildly successful Southern band. She’d given Gene up to Frank after his birth, and last anyone heard, she’d hitched a ride to Las Vegas.

Babe asked Gene once if he ever tried to find his mother. Gene shrugged, said it would be easier for her to find him than the other way around, and only expressed a regret over not knowing half his family.

Frank Roe was a different character. He’d died young, at the age of 35. Gene was fifteen and still, over ten years later, sometimes had a hard time dealing with it. Despite the fact his father left him to be raised by his grandparents, Frank cared enough to make sure Gene had the chance to live. Frank was a gifted musician, almost cursed, some bayou locals called him the Cajun Robert Johnson. They said he sold his soul to the devil for a chance to play and died paying the hell hounds when he was far too young.

For all his characteristics as a dead beat dad, Frank had always sent what little money he had to help Gene achieve his dreams. Even at ten, baby Gene knew he wanted to be a doctor. And Frank played gig after gig, using what he had after paying off everyone else, to help his son do that. He never did get to see Gene much, once or twice a year while the boy grew up, but the people he knew, ones he worked with while passing through the South, they watched after Gene. Everyone made sure his boy grew up right and proper. They kept Gene away from all the shit his parents had fallen into, kept him away from the hard drugs and anything coming out of the meth labs in the North and the demons of New Orleans in the South.

It was still rare for Gene to talk about his father as the local music legend. Eddie knew the name of Frank Roe and spoke it with a sort of reverence. Gene’s cousin Ray, all the way in Missouri, started his first band out of the stories told about his uncle.

“He would have been so proud of you,” Sheryl said, her voice breaking Babe’s reverie.

“I know,” Gene whispered. “I just wondered if he ever hoped I’d be like him.”

Sheryl laid a delicate hand on Gene’s shoulder. “He never wanted that life for you, Eugene. He knew you were brilliant, would brag for days over how smart his baby boy was. You’ve done made your whole family proud, Gene, all while never forgetting your roots. Don’t ever doubt your accomplishments and all our pride in that.”

Gene gave a small smile and nodded. Babe had to fight the urge to go over to him. He knew that right now, Sheryl had to be the one to bring him out. She knew far more about Gene’s family.

Sheryl slapped Gene’s ass. “Stop pouting and let us brag about you. I need to get on my way and I will stand here slapping you until you give me a real smile. Don’t make me get my wooden spoon.”

Gene laughed. “Yes, mama,” he answered. “I just think about it too much sometimes.”

“You’re allowed to mourn,” Sheryl said, “but you still got that cute red-head of yours to fatten up.”

She reached back to Babe and pulled off his hat.

“See, ain’t he just precious,” she cooed while waving at Babe’s curls.

Babe just sighed. He’d grown used to Sheryl, and honestly adored her, but sometimes he really wished someone existed in the world to rein her in.

Gene grabbed the hat from Sheryl’s hands and did smile, truly and honestly this time.

“Leave him be, Sheryl. He doesn’t like being the curly red-headed step-child.”

“We all have our crosses to bear,” Sheryl said. She kissed Gene’s cheek and pinched Babe’s ass before making her way out.

“Call me when you get to Jacksonville,” Gene yelled after her.

She waved him goodbye in acknowledgment, the doors swinging closed behind her.

“Every time I meet her, I feel like I just fought a whirlwind,” Babe said. He wrapped an arm around Gene’s waist. “So, your dad played here?”

Gene rested his head on his shoulder. “Played, lived and worked here. Outside of Paw-Paw’s house, he was at Grace’s more than anywhere else. I sat on the floor of that stage and watched him play. Gracie would take me upstairs after afternoon shows, feed me lunch and sneak me cookies. It was practically a second-home when I was very little.”

“So, instead of Little League games, you had a musical experience.”

“Never did like baseball,” Gene said. “Though, I do enjoy those pictures of you in your Minor Leagues uniform.”

“I still can’t believe Merriell found those pictures.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t mention _that_ in the list of all your past jobs.”

“My shoulder’s done, not like I can pitch anymore. Besides, you make shit for money when you work in the Minors. I still had to bartend during those two years.”

Babe looked around the hall. “Is Gracie still around?” he asked.

Gene nodded. “Her dad named this place after her. Bought it the year she was born. It was a playhouse before that. There’s a lot of history in these walls.”

“Were you really waiting for my tolerance of spices to build up to take me here?”

“I figured it was better to kill two birds with one stone and all that. I didn’t want to waste a trip here and not stop at Papa Grub’s.” He squeezed Babe’s side. “And trust me when I say, until now you couldn’t stomach anything on that menu.”

“I could’ve tried,” Babe protested.

Gene just gave him a look that plainly stated his opinion of Babe’s ability to suffer heartburn in stoic silence.

Babe turned back to the wall of pictures, catching a few more of Frank through the years.

“That’s the last picture of him,” Gene said as he pointed to the far end of the wall.

Frank’s face was older in this one, older than the 35 years he should have been in the picture. His hair still gleamed, but there was a gaunt look to his face, his body, lines etched into his skin. The effects of life on the road, living off shitty food, no sleep, and too many drugs showed sharply in the lines of the black and white photograph.

Babe couldn’t imagine that life of a nomad. He went from living in the neighborhood with his whole family, to living with Gene and a whole new set of friends. With the exception of his brief time in the minors and the jobs he took for Ron, Babe always grew up surrounded by family. He knew Eddie spent three years wandering the country as a musician, but Babe could get that. He understood the whole trying to find yourself bullshit after a big life change, but to make that your life, leaving your family behind, he just couldn’t comprehend it.

“I am not the wandering kind,” Babe muttered.

“Damn right, you aren’t,” Gene said. “I don’t want to get all territorial on you Edward, but I do know how to kill someone and make it look all natural like.”

“You always know the perfect thing to say,” Babe said.

Gene tugged Babe towards the exit, turning off the lights on the way out.

“Thank you,” Babe said. “And sorry for being such an ass about coming here.”

“You’re welcome,” Gene said. “You couldn’t have known where I was bringing you, so thanks for trusting me enough to blindly follow my ass anywhere.”

“You always get where you need to be,” Babe said.

“You ready for some true Cajun cuisine?” Gene asked. He pulled away from Babe as they walked down the street, but let their fingers occasionally rub together.

Babe didn’t say anything about the lost contact, he knew that this town wasn’t St. Boniface, where the little old ladies gave them a homemade cake for their anniversary and everyone had adopted Babe and Spina as native sons.

He did allow himself to bump into Gene’s side. “As long as you’re my knight in shining armor with an industrial sized tub of TUMS, I think I’m good.”

Gene just shook his head and shoved Babe into the restaurant, laughing when every person inside turned to stare at the newcomers.

************

Babe drove them back to St. Boniface, taking the main roads and using GPS. Gene probably would’ve bitched, if he wasn’t napping in the passenger’s seat. It took about five miles of coaxing, but he finally agreed to get some rest.

Babe counted the day as a win. He got Gene to sleep and he had yet to take an antacid.

Gene slept all the way to the house. Babe hated to wake him up, but he learned two years ago that trying to carry Gene Roe could only end in bloody noses and bruised ribs.

“We home,” Gene rasped.

“Yeah. I wonder if Merriell got in a wreck. There’s a rental in the driveway.”

“Merl-Francis is banned from most rental companies in the area,” Gene said in a yawn, “Besides, he would’ve just called one of us to come get him. Looks like we got a guest.”

“We got half a tank of gas, I can drive in the opposite direction and we won’t have to deal with any unexpected company.”

“What is it with you and your hatred for welcoming folks into our home?”

Babe raised a brow. “Did you not say you needed a spreadsheet to keep all my relatives in order?”

Gene shuddered. “Your Christmas card list is terrifying.”

“And that’s just family,” Babe said while stepping out of the car.

They could hear the laughter pouring out of the kitchen as they opened the backdoor.

Merriell, Ralph, and R.V. Burgin were spread out over Babe’s formerly spotless kitchen, laughing their asses off and chowing down on some burgers.

“Romus, nice to see you,” Gene said.

“Even if it is a surprise,” Babe muttered.

“You know, I forgot what the Babe Heffron Welcome Wagon was like,” Burgin said. “It always makes me feel like I’m coming home.”

Babe shrugged and claimed the chair next to Spina. “Hey, if I was expecting you I could have put out our nice china.”

“And what’s that? Actual plates?” Burgin asked as he held up his burger on a napkin.

“That’s what you get for coming when the adults were out,” Gene said. He pulled out a stack of plates and set them down. “Stop ruining Babe’s hard work.”

Burgie and Ralph immediately grabbed plates, but Merriell made a big show of wiping his hands on the table cloth.

“Burgie, slap him,” Babe ordered.

Merriell ducked and laughed. “Come on, Heffron, just trying to keep you grounded. Can’t have you going around thinking we’re all going to respect you now.”

“You really do raise insults to an art form,” Burgie said.

Merriell smiled. “Burgie, I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“I thought it was his boyish smile,” Spina said.

“Or the saving-his-ass-in-Afghanistan bit,” Babe said.

“You know it’s just because Merl-Francis needs to keep close all those who have passed his rigorous friendship stress-testing,” Gene said.

Merriell shook his head. “Look at all these vipers I’ve nursed at my bosom.”

“You know the word bosom?” Burgie asked.

“Eddie got him an SAT-Word-A-Day calendar,” Spina explained.

Merriell just held up a finger in response. He turned to Gene. “Gene-Baptiste, where did you and the ball-and-chain escape to on this lovely day?”

“We eloped,” Gene said in complete sincerity.

Spina, Merriell, and Burgin all stopped mid-bite and probably would have stayed that way if Babe could have controlled his laughter. As it was, he was laughing so hard, tears were running down his face.

“You two may think that’s really fucking funny, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you did that one day,” Spina muttered.

“Please, Spina,” Babe said, “we all know Shelton and Gene are the married couple. I’m just the dirty mistress. You’re the houseguest who never leaves, Eddie and Andy are the crazy uncles, and Burgie’s the traveling farm-hand that comes every few seasons and has a torrid affair with Merriell.”

“You’ve got a lot of free time working at that bar,” Burgin said.

“Jamie and I are writing our own soap opera,” Babe admitted.

Merriell threw a napkin at Babe’s head. “Where did you two go, for real?”

“I took him up to Grace’s and Papa Grove’s,” Gene said.

Burgie and Spina exchanged a confused look, but Merriell just sat back and shook his head.

“Christ,” he said, “you two _are_ going to elope one of these days. You’re going to go up to Boston for some favor for Ron and come back married.”

“Since Louisiana doesn’t recognize gay marriage, civil unions, or domestic partnerships, you won’t have to worry about pre-nups or custody agreements,” Spina said.

“You get Shelton, I’ll take the cat,” Babe told Gene.

“Edward Heffron, if you honestly think I’d let you get out of here and leave me alone with Merl-Francis, then you and Luz need to watch _Deliverance_ again,” Gene said.

Burgie laughed so hard, he started choking.

************

Babe woke up to the sounds of Gene rummaging around in the bathroom. It was seven in the morning, but since he had to pick up the liquor order for Fitzwilliam’s, he rolled out of bed anyway.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and stumbled down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen.

Burgie and Merriell were passed out on the couch, game controllers resting in their limp hands. Spina was standing over them with a marker, clearly contemplating his next move.

“Raphael, I’d ask you to think about the wisdom of trying to sneak up on two former Marines who served multiple tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, but I’d kind of like to see just how many of your bones get broken.”

“Normally, I would agree with you,” Spina said, “but after you and Gene went to bed last night, these two went through every bottle of hard liquor in the house.”

Babe leaned over the couch and looked at the mess of bottles and shot glasses. He whistled.  
“Did Florence finally smarten up and leave Burgie?” he asked.

“Hell, no,” Spina said, “she’s pregnant. What you see before you is the result of unending rounds of celebratory toasts.”

Babe slapped Spina’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it, man. It’s too early for this shit.”

Spina nodded and went back to his work, twirling the sharpie in his hand.

Babe breathed a sigh of relief when he smelled coffee and bacon already coming from the kitchen. Eddie stood behind the stove, a breakfast making god in wrinkled clothes and tired eyes.

“I’m pretty sure you should be sleeping after driving all day, playing a night gig, driving back, and getting home, I’m guessing, about thirty minutes ago,” Babe said.

Eddie looked up from the pancakes he was making and smiled. “There was a time, not so very long ago, when I had days of non-stop driving and no sleep. What I did last night was pretty much a cake-walk.”

“Thanks for breakfast,” Babe said as he made a plate with what Eddie had already laid out.

“I won’t be able to sleep for another few hours, so I figured this was the least I could do.”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the hung over sleeping beauties out there.”

Eddie smirked. “I may be getting some revenge for the shit they pulled in Oceanside, but I’ll never admit to it.”

Gene came into the kitchen, all clean hair and fresh scrubs. He gratefully took the mug of coffee Eddie held out to him. He settled down next to Babe and snagged a piece of bacon off his plate.

“Did anyone leave pots out for those two idiots?” Gene asked.

Babe’s answer was cut-off by a round of cursing which could only be attributed to Merriell Shelton.

Eddie sat down at the table with his own plate, a wide smile on his face. “It’s so very good to be home again.”


End file.
